The Most Tragic Tale of Miss Mary Sue
by typicalgryffinclaw
Summary: (Mary Sue Parody) Miss Mary What’s-Her-Name Sue has begun at Hogwarts — and with her she brings adventure!


**Heeeeyy! It's meeee in the house! I adore Mary Sue fanfics, so I felt I'd give this a go. This'll be mostly Harry Potter with some Percy Jackson undertones. DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does. I also do not claim to own anything. The only thing I own is this fic and my Mary Sue. Please review, it really would mean a lot to me and I await constructive criticism, so if you can review, please do!**

Harry Potter had just finished his terribly tragic fourth-year. It had mainly consisted of horrible newspaper articles, drama, impossibly dangerous tasks for pure enjoyment, horrible newspaper articles, more horrible newspaper articles, and facing off with the Dark Lord himself (AKA Lord Voldemort). Oh, and witnessing his — Voldemort's, duh! — totally not melodramatic rebirth! Urgh, being Harry Potter was so difficult. He was The Boy You're Definitely Not Reading Fanfiction About, for crying out loud! _And_ he had to wait a whole darn year before Old Voldy made a comeback! _Sigh._

So sad Harry, wallowing in his self-pity and being helplessly distressed, made his sad way through the sad barrier excluding the sad Muggle world from sad Platform 9 and 3/4. Harry was very sad. So horribly sad, that absolutely _nothing_ could help him. He was stuck in this awfully sad misery for sad eternity! And he was totally not being a drama queen . . . totally not.

Harry, totally not being a sad drama queen, rushed totally not-dramatically and totally sadly past his totally not-caring and totally not-concerned totally not-best-friends, Ron and Hermione. This proved difficult, however, as the Weasley twins decided it was a brilliant moment to confess that they'd blown up a toilet as they'd promised in their third-year, and it was very difficult not to notice that Mrs Weasley was tryingher hardest not to blow up in exchange. So Harry, totally not smirking, stepped sadly into the sad train.

"Oi, Harry!"

"Harry! HARRY!"

"Are you okay, mate?"

"Harry, what's wrong?"

Harry ignored his unfeeling friends, and stowed his . . . totally not trunk? . . . in a luggage rack, and did not wait for his friends. He didn't exactly need to, though — they burst in, looking like a pair of crazed, overprotective parents. Harry totally did not think that they should get together all ready. Totally not.

"HARRY — !"

"— Are you okay — ?"

"— It's all right, mate, cry on my shoulder — !"

"— Oh, Harry, I'm sorry — !"

Harry burst into totally manly tears. "I'm sick of it!" Ron and Hermione glanced warily at each other. They went into a furious, whispered discussion, followed by a totally intense round of Parchment, Candle, Wand. Hermione stepped forwards with a scowl, which she quickly replaced with a reproachful smile. "Harry . . . What's wrong?"

Harry glared super-intensely at her. "I wanted two chocolate frogs, but you only gave me one!" He furiously wiped away his tears and glared more-intensely at her. They had a quick glaring competition. Hermione lost. "Fine!" she said exasperatedly, "Here's _three!"_ She pulled out _three_ gorgeous chocolate frogs from her robes, and handed them annoyedly to Harry.

Harry took them happily. "Okay, now let's use some awesome magic to get to Hogwarts super-fast!"

Ron and Hermione groaned. "Remember last time?" said Ron. "I don't think I'll ever recover." Hermione nodded desperately. "Yes, Harry," she added, "you know the driver hates you."

Harry shrugged. "I hated him anyway. And he deserved the puke, the bastard!" So Ron and Hermione clung despairingly to the luggage racks, and Harry swished his wand through the air. Within a matter of twenty terrifying seconds, the train pulled into Hogsmeade station. "Woohoo!" exclaimed Harry. "GO ME!"

He jumped up, followed by Ron and Hermione, stumbling drunkenly. He sashayed past the red-faced driver. Ron and Hermione muttered the driver quick apologies. "He's very distressed," they assured him, "he's not always like this . . . Oh, just forget third-year, for Merlin's sake!"

Harry sashayed into Hogwarts, past the ickle firsties, and an astounded and stuttering McGonagall. Dumbledore did not say anything. He simply winked dramatically at Harry and went back to sucking his beloved sherbet lemons. Harry winked back beautifully at the Headmaster and took his seat at the Gryffindor table.

The students piled in, gawking at Harry, who was on his second chocolate frog. "Ha!" he yelled at them, "I got Merlin!" He triumphantly waved a chocolate frog card at them. They gazed longingly at the card. Cho Chang (a very special someone in her 6th year in Ravenclaw) passed Harry's seat; she winked mischievously at him. He winked surreptitiously back. Dumbledore looked reasonably betrayed.

The intricate doors of the Great Hall burst open. All heads turned to gaze at the stumbling, pink-faced firsties. "Wow," muttered Harry, "I wasn't that ugly, was I?" Hermione's only acknowledgement that he'd said such a thing was her vicious glare. Harry glared back at her, locking eyes with such ferocity that the even the ickle firsties turned to gawk. This time, unfortunately for Harry, Hermione won. Harry proceeded to poke his . . . er, _luscious_ tongue. Hermione did not, however, mimick his actions, and Harry ended up looking like a fool. The firsties giggled this time.

Suddenly, Harry's totally important tongue-poking session was ceased when a truly gorgeous girl sashayed into the Great Hall. Her sashaying was such a magnificent work of art that Harry was not even the slightest bit angry at her for stealing his thing. The chatter died down. Harry's luscious tongue drooped back into his mouth. The teachers (including Snape) gawked, and several even blinked in disbelief.

The girl was oh-so-tall and very petite — the ideal body. Her skin was a flawless coppery tan; unblemished, impossibly smooth, and adorably porcelain. But her hair was just a different thing all together . . . This girl's hair was a beautiful gold, almost a shimmery rose-gold, and the glowing tresses cascaded down her back in a curly waterfall of jaw-dropping beauty. And the piercing eyes of this girl took the very breath away from everybody in the room. Her eyes were a purple — no, a blue! — wait, a green? Her eyes seemed to change colour, one gorgeous shade to another. But the most curious thing about this girl was a silvery star encrusted on her unblemished forehead. Not a scar — a star; a star bejewelled on her very skin as if she were a porcelain doll. A star dotted with the most fragile yet most beautiful of precious stones and diamonds. She wore a dainty silver parka over her black leather miniskirt. On her feet rest two glossy, black platform-heels. She seemed to walk in such luxuries with such ease.

This godly girl pushed (yet oh-so-politely and gracefully; the first-years melted away at the mere sight of her.) past the crowd of bemused eleven-year olds and took her suddenly rightful place in front of the surprisingly bewildered Sorting Hat.

The girl raised her dainty arms with a graceful flourish, as if praying to the heavens, and declared in a voice so beautiful she may have been singing, "I am Mary Elizabeth Victoria Kaylee Lucy Elizabeth Jr Perfecta Beautifula Marietta Amazingbeth Sue!"


End file.
